


Maybe Therapy, Maybe Someday

by WritingYay



Series: He's a mess, but he's mine [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Politics, Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Coma, Crying, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Graphic description of attack, Graphic references to injury, Hospital, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Loss, M/M, Nat deserves a pay rise, Near Death, Please note that gunmen appear, Political References, Sadness, Shooting, Shooting injury, Surgery, Swearing, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, guns are mentioned, pepper is amazing, please read the tags, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingYay/pseuds/WritingYay
Summary: Steve opens his mouth to scream back at him when out of nowhere, five gun-wielding strangers dressed head-to-toe in bike leathers explode through the elevator like something out of a shitty superhero movie.Because-of-fucking-course.





	Maybe Therapy, Maybe Someday

“Are you gonna come out with us?” Nat corners Tony in the stifling moonlight afterwards, the crisp winter air so harsh he was struggling to breathe. He forces himself to take a huge gulp of air, wincing at the iciness that stuck to his tongue and marred his lungs.

“I don’t have the energy…” He admits with a strained laugh and shoves his hands into his suit pockets to clench and unclench his fingers in the fabric. Vision chuckles from where he’s holding the car door open but his fingertips are gripping onto the metal too tightly. 

Nat laughs too, but she doesn’t hide the relief that’s dancing through her eyes. The anxiety lines that have creviced her beautiful face since she became Tony’s PR co-ordinator soften slightly under the gentle glow. “Okay. Please go and get some rest then. I’ll need you to have your head screwed on for the statement tomorrow.”

Tony nods in understanding and goes to turn to Vision with a fragile smile. He’d already expressed his gratitude to the team when his stomach hadn’t been somersaulting like a trapeze artist.

“Tony?” Nat calls after him when he’s taken two steps- he drags his torso round to face her and tries to hide how his throat is closing up. She grins and salutes him with a gloved hand. “Congratulations, Mr President.”

He won’t cry in front of Nat, he can’t cry in front of Nat…

“Thanks gorgeous.” 

The tremor through his voice was pathetic. He should be celebrating, he should be elated, it’s everything he ever dreamed of, he… he-

He felt numb.

-

The reason for Tony’s mess is sitting at the kitchen table when he gets back to the house, a laptop open in front of him, his shirt open collared and a half empty bottle of vodka acting as a paperweight and blaring like a siren on top of a folder.

Satan attempts an encouraging smile at Tony: well done, I’m proud of you, we did it…

In reality, the smile screams loss and pleads for help. It makes Tony close his eyes in desperation as the room begins to spin.

“Hi.” Steve’s voice mirrors Tony’s for hoarseness, and there are already signs of puffiness ringing his eyes. “Congratulations, Tony.”

“Thank you.” He replies politely, his tone already giving way to a tsunami of heartbreak. “You gifted me a very difficult and very commendable political race.”

Steve’s nose crinkles in confusion. “Did Nat write that?”

“Yeah, apparently it’s a bit of the statement I have to deliver in the morning.” Tony nods and attempts to smile back, he really does, but the ravaging animalistic wave of emotion is biting down on his chest. “I did say it didn’t sound like me but she wasn’t having it. She’ll probably cut it though, she knows me.”

His husband pushes the laptop further down the marble and rises from the stool to pad slowly towards Tony, whose façade is about to implode. Steve’s jaw keeps visibly tightening and Tony knows what that means. He winds his strong arms around Tony’s waist and crosses them at the base of his back to rub two comforting hands up and down his spine. Tony wanted to push him away and remind him about everything they’d discussed but Steve was blinking really fast now and- oh god.

“I’m really proud of you.”

“Don’t.” Tony whispers quietly and bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“You deserve the Presidency, honestly. You were the better candidate at the end and I screwed up so…”

They stare at each other for a moment and a shared thought passes between them: who’s gonna break first?

“I’m really sorry.” Tony can’t help but say and Steve squeezes his eyes shut; drops his head to gently knock their foreheads together. It takes three seconds for the gut-wrenching, agonising sobs that Tony had held for so long to batter his broken body. Steve follows him embarrassingly soon after until they are two thirty-somethings in expensive suits holding each other on a lifeboat as the world rips them apart one particle at a time. 

“I ruined every-everything.” Steve manages to get out through a particularly painful looking crying inhale that sends shudders through his shoulders. 

“No,” Tony whines in something that represents encouragement and lifts a hand to sweep away some collecting tears on Steve’s lower lashes. “Don’t say that. I’m okay, we’ll be okay…”

Steve laughs a bit at this, and sniffs heavily. “Our marriage-”

“-will recover.” Tony finishes for him adamantly and manipulates his chest into calming down slightly. “It will, baby. God, we’ve been through some shit this last week but it will get better, it has to get better."

Steve blinks at Tony in slow motion, his captivating blue eyes still melting into liquid every second.

“I wanna believe that.”

“You better, Cap. I’m gonna need my husband by my side if I’m running this clusterfuck of a country.”

Thankfully, Steve’s lips twist upwards into a smirk that Tony recognises and he inwardly sighs with relief.

“You know we said about starting over, marriage wise?”

Tony silences him with a single look as he nods once, vigorously. “I stand by what I said after the conference. We’ve got to sort ourselves out before we even touch the marriage.”

Steve swallows heavily and the tiny glimmer of hope that was shining in his glassy eyes dissipates. 

“I probably shouldn’t be holding you like this then.” He sighs. Tony shrugs and moves his hands to cup Steve’s elbows; two weights firmly anchoring them both to the ground. Politics had a funny way of sweeping people up like a tornado and spitting them back out with no pride and no energy. Tony hated how much he understood that now, even after all this time.

“When, in over a decade of being together, have we not done things the hard way? When have we not been destructive?”

It’s a fair point and Steve’s features quirk up into a fond smirk. The red rings etched around his eyes sort of dampen his ethereal beauty, but Tony doesn’t mind. His husband doesn’t hate him. They have a chance at be okay.

In that moment, Tony wishes to the high fucking heavens that it would be that easy.

Even though they both slip into the same bed that night, their bodies were continents apart with heartache and confusion swirling into the Egyptian cotton sheets between them like cyanide. Insomnia crippled Tony into a state of hysterical worrying as his mind constantly spun into tornados of muddled thinking- nothing made sense, not one tableau projected into his head gave him answers.

He turns to find Steve’s sleep-warm, sated body curled up in the sheets with one hand fisted in the pillows like someone was going to rip them away. Tony reaches out to smooth a hand through his hair but thinks better of it and rolls over onto his back to count the shadows displayed on the ceiling; his heart lurching about in a storm under his ribs. 

-

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this when I woke up yesterday morning.” Tony chuckles easily from the beautiful marble lectern and the whole room laughs good-naturedly with him. Tension floods through his veins but he has to pretend- he must pretend- that his first Presidency speech is only being made to the 500 or so people sat before him, and not beamed around the globe from the countless cameras pointing their empty black mouths directly at his face. His eyes scan back down to Nat’s carefully constructed speech and with a deep breath, he continues.

“The Avengers, not just myself but my entire team, have been waiting for this moment for nearly two decades. I cannot begin to voice my appreciation and excitement at being elected President of the United States for this upcoming term.” Tony informs the room and the room nods back at him in synchronised understanding. In a heartbeat, his tone turns to one of clear severity. “It is my solemn promise to you now, that I will do everything in my power to liberate the lives of everyone oppressed in America. There will be no conflict, no poverty, no discrimination and no moral crisis- not when I am in government. Our fantastic country will know true light again, and we will shine as a beacon of hope and promise to the world.”

He sounds shaky, but the conviction in his voice somehow causes a pattern of claps to echo throughout the room and a few people cheer. A quick glance to his left reveals Pepper smiling from ear to ear in the wings.

“I’d like to take this moment to thank my brilliant party from the bottom of my heart, and especially my world-class team at the Avengers Tower. This would not have been possible without you.”

Pepper cheers.

“As the first openly L-”

Tony falters and re-reads the sentence to himself again just to make sure the words swimming on the page were actually the ones he needed to say.

“As the first openly LGBTQ+ President in US history…” he trails off, painfully aware that people were glancing slyly at each other in the audience. Did this really need to be said? “I will strive to present America as the welcoming and forward-thinking country I know it can be.” 

Some people cheer, most clap and a handful stare back at him in stony silence.

He notices that the main bulk of the speech was essentially done, so just tells some anecdotes and throws in a few more promises to fill up the time before marching off the stage with a massive exhale of relief. Huh- he didn’t need to mention Steve then. 

“You were amazing!” Pepper greets him and kisses him on the cheek. He thanks her distractedly.

“Did Nat tell you she was going to write the gay bit?” He accuses sharply and Pepper’s expression immediately falls into her professional one.

“I told Natasha to include it, Tony. The sponsors asked that it had to be a factor of the speech, apparently they wanted to do some PR damage control of their own.”

Tony begins to seethe and his hands curl into fists.

“Don’t start!” Pepper warns him sternly and grabs his hand to pull him from the wings and onto the main floor where voices of bigoted millionaires filtered through the velvet curtains. “They insisted and they have the money. What was I going to do? Tell them to shove their extra billions up their asses?”

Whilst talking, she manages to surround them both by attendees of the live speech; all wanting a chance to congratulate the new President.

Tony repeats his thanks over and over and loses count of how many times he had to be interested in someone in the first few minutes. 

“Persephone Gelder.” One particularly memorable young woman introduces herself to Tony with a flourish of her fur coat and Tony just blinks at her blankly.

“Have we met before?”

She nods in quiet confusion before he remembers himself, grins falsely, and shakes her hand. “Why, of course! How could I forget?” Every lie felt like smoke unfurling between his teeth.

Tony’s phone rings exactly ten minutes after his first public speech as President had been made. He excuses himself swiftly from an obligatory conversation with Pepper and one of the more influential attendees (whose name he had forgotten in half a second) and manages to find an empty hallway to hide in.

“Nice speech.” Steve tells him as soon as he’s accepted the call and Tony snorts loudly into the phone. Members of his party filter past the hallway as a shortcut to the main arena from the smoking areas and suddenly Tony’s itching to have a glass of something strong in his hand.

“How many times did you throw things at the TV?”

“Only four. You’re three down from the last solo speech you did.”

Tony loosens his tie with one hand to give the aching ball of anxiety nestled in his throat some room.

“I’m a star.”

“Uh no, it means T’Challa is getting better at writing speeches,” Steve chuckles back as an uneasy silence falls on them both. “Or is it Nat?”

Tony sidles further around a corner to escape from a particularly rowdy looking bunch of young martyrs rallying past the quiet hallway. None of them spare Tony a single glance but his hackles rise all the same.

“Fuck knows, the speech comes to me- I read it out loud and hope to god I’m not pleading my undying alliance to you or anything as I go.” He scoffs, painfully aware that he’d been gone too long. Pepper was gonna come searching for him at any minute.

“Yeah… the LGBT bit?” Steve sounds small and nervous so Tony swallows his annoyance and forces his voice to sound even.

“I didn’t even know it was there until I was halfway through the sentence.” He replies and scuffs the back of his shoe against the wall. “According to Pep, it was the sponsors. It was outta my league, it was- yeah. Not you, don’t worry.”

He swears he can hear Steve literally breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Go and shamelessly flirt with your supporters.” He sighs and reads Tony’s mind in one fell swoop. “Just be thankful I’m not there to be jealous.” It’s a line that old Steve would say, not the confusing robot he was currently married to.

“But then it isn’t fun anymore…” Tony forces himself to whine but nevertheless, mutters a quick ‘bye’ and hangs up; Pepper storming around the corner like a bulldozer. Except, it isn’t Pepper, but Nat who narrows her eyes mockingly at him.

“You’ve been President for a day, and you’re hiding?”

Tony laughs hollowly.

“Talking to Steve.” He holds his phone up and Nat sighs.

“How is he?”

“We haven’t really spoken to each other since the conference.” He shrugs honestly and looks down to fiddle with his phone case. “It’s… I don’t know, I guess it’s hard for the both of us.”

Surprisingly, Nat nods in understanding. “It’s like you’ve got too much to say, but when you open your mouth, neither of you can find the right words?”

Tony just blinks at her. “Yeah… how did you-?”

She throws her hands up silently and he shakes his head with a snort. “You are one confusing woman, Romanoff.”

Nat winks sarcastically. “I try.”

Her arm links with his before she’s pulling him from the hallway to direct them both back to the main stage. It’s only until he’s bracing himself for the claustrophobic mingling to begin, does he truly realise how little he wanted to there. Did he wish that Steve had got the Presidency instead of him? Nat was right, he’d been President for a day and already he was hiding and dreading talking to his supporters.

Nat shoots him a worried look before they’re opening the doors to be swallowed up in the hungry sea of predators.

-

“He’s doing my fucking head in.” Tony groans a few days later, stapling some documents together with enough force to send a framed photo crashing onto the floor. Pepper just murmurs in agreement and slams yet another folder down on his desk. Nat had come to visit them both in their offices after a particularly volatile PR appearance had resulted in riot police surrounding Tony’s car but so far, Tony had just moaned about Steve.

“I mean, the man knows that Presidency comes with a lot of baggage but god in heaven, I thought we were past the stage of him being pissed because I missed dinner! How has our marriage suffered even more now that we aren’t politically at each other’s throats anymore?”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Peter voices obediently and Tony jabs his index finger at him enthusiastically.

“See!”

“You said he was flying to LA to give you both some space, right?” Nat mediates from her position reclined in Tony’s chair. Tony nods and she continues with a sigh. “Well that’s a good thing. You did say you needed to sort yourselves out before dealing with the marriage, so maybe this break is exactly what you need?”

“He’s probably tired, restless and jealous.” Pepper mutters with a frown. Her black dress had spots of oil still on it from the protestors earlier but she was too angry to change it so was displaying it like a warrior stance. “I know how he feels.”

“Hey!” Tony grunts, hurt. She blanks him and goes to return to her office when the elevator doors open and Steve comes striding out, tension perched in his temples.

“Why aren’t you at the airport?” Tony can’t help but complain and Nat shrinks down in the chair, her eyes flicking between the two alpha males in quick succession. Steve narrows his eyebrows and crosses his arms in agitation.

“Is LA really a good idea?”

Tony openly voices his annoyance this time with a loud moan of indignation.

“Yes! We talked about this, Steve. Space would give us time to focus on ourselves before we heal together. I thought you understood!”

“I don’t see why I should go off for a few weeks while you play happy families with the government? How can you preach honesty and truth to your people when you can only look me in the eyes fifty percent of the time?”

Tony’s nostrils flare but Steve stands his ground. “I’m done with this conversation. Go to LA.”

“Well I’m not!” Steve yells out of nowhere and Peter quickly makes a beeline for the safety of Pepper’s office. “Goddamnit Tony! I’m trying to save our marriage.”

“Well right now, my career takes priority.” Tony bites back and immediately regrets it, Steve’s expression shuttering off into one of offence.

“I must say,” Steve begins to mutter, fingering through the collapsing piles of paperwork on Tony’s desk lazily. “It would be very interesting to know how you managed to pay for all of those campaigns using only the money your sugar daddies- sorry, I mean sponsors- were sending you-”

The growl that erupts from Tony’s chest bounces around the room and smacks straight into Steve’s chest. Tension pours through the vents like smoke and it chokes them both unforgivingly.

“I swear to fucking god Rogers,” he warns and stalks towards the taller man in the only way Starks can. Steve swallows at the burning anger in Tony’s eyes; anger he hadn’t seen since… well, last week. “If you investigate into my party’s expenses, I’ll break your face.”

Bile rises up into Steve’s throat as he surveys his husband, his broken, shattered husband, and grits his jaw to exhale quickly through his nose.

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve shakes his head sadly, wondering how on earth they’d managed to get to this. Never, in over a decade, had their show rivalry filtered into their marriage. Steve knew that this was entirely his fault. Trying to lighten the mood, he rolls his eyes sarcastically and ghosts his fingertips over the bulging muscle by Tony’s right collarbone. “The Avengers business is your business only, sweetheart.”

Something odd flickers through Tony’s gaze before he’s dropping his head to fixate on the floor. “Appreciated.”

“Fucking hell, here we go.” Steve mutters irately and drops his hand from Tony to run it through his hair.

“I didn’t say anything!” Tony suddenly yells out of nowhere, the pent-up anger he’d been experiencing for weeks erupting from his façade in spurts of lava. Steve recoils as if Tony had kicked him.

“I just-”

“Why are you still here?!” Tony barrels on and Nat shrinks away from the doorway as she tries to quietly sidle out of the office. “If you’re gonna go to LA, go! I don’t need you here!”

Steve opens his mouth to scream back at him when out of nowhere, five gun-wielding strangers dressed head-to-toe in bike leathers explode through the elevator like something out of a shitty superhero movie.

Because-of-fucking-course.

Nat dives for cover under Tony’s desk when one of the bastards fires his gun at her, narrowly missing her head and instead shattering an expensive painting mounted on the wall next to a filing cabinet full of alcohol and forgotten dinner invites. Steve- his hero complex still as big as his ego- tackles Tony to the ground behind some drawers as bullets squeal past their temples. There’s a scuffle as Pepper manages to grab a metal paperweight to chuck at one of the gunmen when he turns his back to point a gun at Peter, the object clanging off of his skull to send him crumbling into a pile of limbs on the floor.

Tony remembers the panic alarm attached to his phone after he’s pulled Peter down next to them to escape more bullets as Nat karate kicks one of the intruders in the balls (“hope you feel that in your throat, fucker!”) so buries his face in Steve’s chest whilst his husband grabs a folder to beat them off with and unlocks his phone to send an alert to the building’s security. 

In one swift movement, Steve leaps from the floor to crack one of the heavy folders into the face of the shortest gunmen, who makes a throaty squelching noise that Peter almost gags at as he catapults backwards. In a fleeting moment of horror, Tony eyes up one of the remaining attackers circling round to point his rifle at Steve’s head before Tony reaches out to grab Steve by the ankle and yank him back down behind the oak drawers. A stray bullet pings off the corner nearest to Peter; wood splintering around like chips of gold and Peter’s jaw tightens. Pepper bellows with fright as the gunmen she was attempting to fend off jams his elbow into the side of her neck and her fingers go lax but Nat gets to her just in time and together they manage to push him out of her office with the legs of a chair.

“Stay here!” Steve suddenly shouts over the deafening crescendo of guns firing and screaming to point at the window. “I’m gonna smash the glass to alert people down below.”

“Are you crazy?” Peter shrieks incredulously and waves his hand around above his head to signify the utter chaos that was occurring above them. “You don’t think people would’ve already noticed this?!”

Tony opens his mouth to inform his husband that the entire SWAT team and CIA would be up at any moment- the perks of having security fit for a President, you know- when Steve dashes from behind the cabinet to barrel into a gunmen who had clattered into the second office four seconds previously. He swears he can see the mouth of the scum twist upwards into a sadistic smirk before the gun is being pointed at Steve’s chest and everything goes into slow motion.

There’s the sickening vibration of a bullet hitting skin, Steve’s mouth opening into a perfect hole of excruciation, and then nothing.

Every nerve-ending in Tony’s body felt like it was on fire. Peter screams painfully somewhere close to Tony’s left ear, but his entire focus is on the plummeting dead weight of the man he loved more than himself, his whole pelvis area painted death red. 

Then, the heavens open, and floodlights scorch down on the building from around four helicopters as dozens of SWAT officers swarm the floor to pounce on the gunmen about five seconds too late. It takes Tony a heartbeat to realise that the splitting screaming he can still hear is coming from his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He shouts when his knees allow him to lurch his body to Steve’s, frantic hands running over the blood soaked garments. “Not when I need you the most, you unselfish, egotistical bastard… do-don’t you fucking die on me, not now.”

Steve’s complexion was grey. Immediately, Tony’s mind sub-consciously constructs similarities with a corpse and the pressure already smothering his chest goes into overload. 

“Baby?” He whimpers but Steve’s staring through at him and not at his glassy eyes like he’d hoped. “Steve? Steve-please hang on just- HELP! HELP ME PLEASE!”

He hears Pepper screaming his name but all he can see is Steve, all he can feel is Steve. Or, more pressingly, the increasing lack of Steve. All he can feel is the nauseatingly faint and slow pulse fighting deep in Steve’s wrist.

Paramedic after paramedic sprint into the office and surround Steve with gloved hands and needles. One of them gently removes Tony’s hands from his body and softly pulls him away. Confused, Tony downright refuses and gallantly tries to get back to his husband.

“Please, sir, let them do their job. He has a good chance of survival if they can get him to hospital now, but you’re gonna have to let them help him for that to happen.” The paramedic soothes and fucking hell, he was strong. Tony just flails in his muscly arms, still sobbing as the medics fit an oxygen mask over Steve’s face and jam tubes into his arm. The dressings padded around his torso begin to bleed dark red as they move him onto a stretcher and carry him from the room; the kind paramedic letting Tony go from his hold to follow. 

“Tony!” Pepper’s running towards him, dried blood around her temple and a shock blanket covering her shoulders. She shrugs it off and grabs onto his trembling hand.

“He’ll be okay.” She nods but Tony doesn’t believe her any more than the paramedic. “I’ll drive you, we’ll follow the ambulance.”

“Can’t I go with him?” He cries in reply and helplessly looks on as they start to stretcher Steve down the stairs.

Pepper shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ears to grab her oldest confidant by the shoulders. “Honey, you’d just be in the way. He knows you’ll be right by his side when you can, okay?”

“He needs me.”

“He needs surgery and then he needs you to have a clear head.” She corrects and grabs her car keys from a drawer that didn’t get blown to pieces as they pile into the elevator and ride in tense, thrumming silence to the car park. 

Pepper drives like a bloody maniac to follow the ambulance to the best private hospital this side of New York, throws it in a parking space and runs after Tony to the reception.

“Steve Rogers? He was brought in about two minutes ago, shot wound?” He yells at the receptionist, who takes one look at Tony, blinks, and scrabbles around to find his mouse. Two agonising clicks later, he stands up to point them both through some double doors.

“Through those doors, and then round to the right, follow the red line on the floor and it will take you to the resus reception. Ask there and they’ll be able to tell you if he’s in surgery yet.”

Tony races to the doors with Pepper hot on his heels and throws a thank you over his shoulder. The variety of patients sat in the main waiting room watch open mouthed as their new President runs past them covered in blood.

“Red line, red fucking line!” Tony screeches to himself and looks around wildly at the multiple corridors tunnelling off from the double doors. Pepper spots it first and runs towards the corridor, helpfully marked with ‘Resus’; her heels clacking splittingly on the tiled floors.

Resus is eerily empty when they burst through the doors to the reception, making the woman sat at the desk jump out of her skin.

“Hi, um, I’m looking for my husband Steve Rogers?” Tony asks her. Recognition passes through her eyes but she suppresses it professionally to check her paperwork.

“They’ve rushed him straight to theatre. You two should wait here, and somebody will come and find you when he’s out?” She tells him gently and Pepper drops into a seat to ease her heels off.

“Can’t we just wait in the recovery rooms?”

She shakes her head. “There’s no point.” Her voice is sympathetic and slow. “The surgery will most probably take hours, especially if it’s a shooting injury- that’s what the paramedic report said. We don’t know where Mr Rogers will end up either: he may go into a recovery room or they might take him straight to the ICU. The best thing to do is to wait here. The doctors will update you when they can, I promise.”

Tony nods, wary of Pepper glaring at the back of his head to leave it, and turns to drop next to her in a seat. The emptiness of the room was unnerving; the uncomfortable sound of crying perforated the walls in the near distance. Without looking at him, Pepper reaches across to grab his hand and squeezes.

“Do you have your phone on you?” He asks quietly after a few minutes of silence and Pepper raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, do you need it?”

Tony runs his tongue along the seam of his upper lip to wet it before nodding. She passes it over and immediately he pulls up the contacts and dials Rhodey.

“Pepper?”

“Rhodey? It’s Tony.”

“Oh thank god, you’re alive!” Rhodey garbles before Tony can say anything, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You asshole, you weren’t answering your phone and I thought-”

“I don’t know where it is.” His voice cracks so he clears his throat roughly. “Where are you?”

“I ran to the building when I heard the gunshots; I was having a lunch meeting nearby.”

Tony freezes. “Have you seen-?”

“The kid? Yeah, I’m with him now. The medics want to take him to hospital to check him over but he’s being as stubborn as you which isn’t surprising. Bruce is with Nat, she’s okay.”

He nods absent-mindedly. “Thank fuck they’re okay.”

All the tension in Pepper’s shoulders breezes out of her in one elongated sigh.

“Tones… where are you?”

The receptionist’s phone rings shrilly, slicing open the silence and she widens her eyes at them both sheepishly.

“The Carter Memorial Hospital- I’m with Pep.”

Rhodey gasps. “Oh fuck, is she okay?”

“She’s fine, Rhodes, no it’s… uh…-” Tears prick behind his eyelids again and he pushes them down by clenching them shut. “Steve was shot. He’s in surgery.”

Complete astonishment wafts from the end of the phone as Rhodey listens in tense shock.

“Fucking hell Tony, oh my god that son of a- I thought he was flying to LA?” He yells. Tony sniffs into his fist.

“Yeah he was but then he came to the building and we fought, he was just frustrated and so was I and now he’s gonna die and he doesn’t know how sorry I am and-”

His breathing quickened with every word until his chest was heaving with caged sobs; the room spinning in patterns of sterile tiles until everything seemed dull at the edges. Pepper yanks the phone from his hand and places a comforting hand on the back of his neck as he shook through ragged heaves. She says something to Rhodey before hanging up and pressing closer to her friend to rest her temple on his shoulder.

“If I lose him, Pep…”

“You won’t.” Pepper tells him with so much conviction, Tony believes her. She drops a kiss against his collarbone. “He’s strong as fuck, honey. You know that.”

He drifts for a few more hours and obediently drinks the coffee that Pepper thrusts at his face about three hours in. He comes round to somebody gently tapping his shoulder and he leaps up from his position reclined against the Pepper- the woman fast asleep. Steve.

“Mr Stark.” The surgeon holds her hand out warmly; the exhaustion lines etched around her eyes taking the life out of them. “I am Dr Beech, I presided over Mr Rogers’ surgery.”

“How is he?” Tony asks immediately, wringing his hands together as Pepper stirs from the chair. 

Dr Beech’s features tighten and Tony’s heart drops through his stomach.

“Mr Rogers suffered extensive internal bleeding.” Is the first thing she says and Pepper puts her head in her hands. Tony can’t breathe. “The bullet entered the right side of his torso here,” she points between the last two ribs on her own body. “And travelled in a downwards motion, possibly because the gun was being pointed at a diagonal to get that leverage through Mr Rogers’ body. It then made contact with his liver before settling just above his pelvic area. He’s incredibly lucky that his pancreas remained intact somehow; although the bullet did not exit his body so we had to remove it.”

Tony can only nod silently and try not to lose it, Pepper’s hand a warm weight in his. 

“The surgery we have just performed on Mr Rogers was able to successfully remove the bullet from his pelvis. We also managed to stem the internal bleeding for now, but he will need further operations to repair the damage done to his right side ribs and liver lining.”

Pepper thanks her and asks where Steve had been taken.

“We transferred him straight to the ICU. It was thought best to place him in an induced coma for the next few hours, just to see how he copes with breathing on his own at this present time. He is alive, however, I cannot stress to you the importance of the next twenty-four hours and how critical he is right now.”

“When can we see him?” Tony croaks and the surgeon sighs sympathetically. 

“You can see him now, sir that should be fine. I have to warn you though; he won’t look like the Mr Rogers you know at the moment. There’s some bad swelling, and he’s under heavy sedation which means numerous machines.”

“I don’t care,” Tony shakes his head quickly. “He’s my husband; I have to see for myself that he’s alive.”

She nods in understanding and shows them through some more double doors; the kind receptionist giving them an encouraging smile as they go.

The ICU was again, pretty empty. Only one room seemed to be filled, with a couple of people asleep next to the bed or standing around nervously. Dr Beech reminds them to be prepared, before pushing open a door marked with the number three.

Tony gags.

The man unconscious in the bed was not Steve. It wasn’t his husband. Tubes ballooned into his wrists with various IV lines and painkillers seeping into his system. His body was covered in sterile bandages that wrapped tightly around his abs and were clearly designed to cover the blood seeping through the wounds; they failed. Swelling marred his chest and armpits, as well as his face which made him look like a cartoon. Against the beeping machines that littered the room, his six foot two love looked absolutely pathetic. It wasn’t his Steve, it couldn’t be his Steve.

“Oh, baby.” Tony whispers as his tears bubble to the surface again. He tiptoes forwards to graze his fingertips over Steve’s knuckles, not knowing whether he was too fragile to touch or not.

Pepper sniffs loudly and shudders behind him so he pulls her round to wind an arm around her waist. She places a gentle hand on Steve’s thigh as they survey the damage one idiot with a gun could do. 

“He looks so peaceful.”

The induced coma had taken all of the tension out of Steve’s body, and for the first time in ten years, he looked relaxed. Tony hates this with his entire being.

Pepper exhales shakily and looks around the room for the TV remote to give them a bit of background noise. Tony became painfully aware that he was beginning to count the beeps of the heart monitor- his whole nervous system taut with apprehension at the risk of the steady pattern stuttering.

The TV blares to life with the news, and the Avengers Tower imposes the entire screen.

“Avengers Tower: the HQ of President Stark’s political party in downtown New York was attacked this afternoon by five masked gunmen.” The reporter tells them seriously, images of the shattered glass and huddles of emergency services playing behind her. “The only casualty presently seems to be President Stark’s husband, the politician Steve Rogers, who was apparently shot, according to witnesses. An Avengers source has informed us that Mr Rogers is receiving urgent medical treatment, and the President is reportedly at his bedside. All five intruders have reportedly been arrested. Sophia Powell has more information from the CIA for us- Sophia-”

Pepper struggles with the remote to switch the TV off and the picture disappears immediately with a click. Tony just stares at the screen with increasing relief and horror.

“I’ll ramp up the security.” Pepper murmurs and smooths the creases in her dress. “They won’t know you’re here.”

“They caught the assholes.” Tony dumbly repeats and she nods with a small smile.

“I’ll make sure the courts throw the book at them. Don’t worry.” She clears her throat and kisses his cheek before gesturing at Steve. “He remains to be your top priority.”

Tony’s lips quirk up into a soft smile. He brushes his fingertips through the strands of Steve’s hair that was flopping over his forehead.

Pepper’s phone vibrates and she checks it with a frown; her features melting when she reads the text message. “It’s Rhodey- he’s just pulling up the hospital. I’ll go and get him and then I’ll ring Vision and get the whole security team over here.”

He nods and she leaves swiftly, closing the door behind her with a thump as she disappears past the glass. Steve’s heart monitor beeps monotonously but it’s the most comforting sound Tony has ever heard. Beeps mean his husband is alive.

Suddenly, the door swings open behind him and Rhodey’s standing there, flushed and breathing heavily. Tony opens his mouth to greet him before he’s got an armful of his best friend with Rhodey pressing his cold nose into the fragile skin at Tony’s neck.

“Rhodes, stop. I’m okay pal, so is Steve.” He finds himself soothing the other man, rubbing a hand up and down Rhodey’s back to quell the vicious shivers racking his frame. Rhodey sighs extremely heavily into Tony’s shoulder and Tony slips his eyes closed for two of Steve heartbeats.

“When I heard all the commotion, I knew it was the building. I just knew Tony, there- there was this ball of nausea in my gut and I thought ‘please god not him’. I just kept repeating to myself as I ran over ‘don’t let it be Tones’.”

“I’m-”

“And then I got there and there were ambulances and cop cars everywhere… then I saw the kid and he was crying and I thought… I thought I’d lost you.”

Tony opens his eyes to flick them to the sky and will them to stop welling up. His throat constricts in a hot ball of fiery aching.

“We’re okay- well, Steve isn’t, just fucking look at him but I’m in one piece.”

Rhodey pulls back and his posture immediately tenses at the sight of the broken body strapped into the bed.

“Fucking hell, Tony.”

“I know,” Tony presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets until luminescent spots in the shape of heartrates cloud his vision. “He was in surgery for the best part of five hours- something about internal bleeding? The bullet hit his liver and got lodged in his pelvis or something, I’m not sure. I stopped listening after I realised he was alive. Apparently he was lucky for it to have missed his pancreas or something… what do I know? He’s not exactly ‘lucky’ is he? Look at him.”

“He’s alive.” Rhodey reminds him and a pang of guilt rips through Tony’s abdomen. 

They watch Steve for a little while longer and have a pleasant conversation with one of the nurses who comes to check his vitals; her eyes constantly diverting to Tony’s tear-tracked cheeks.

“Is Nat okay?” Tony enquires after a while, Rhodey looking up from his phone. 

“She’s shaken and has a few cuts and bruises, but otherwise she was okay when I left her. Bruce and I took her back to Bruce’s to clean her up. We had Peter as well but then his aunt picked him up to take him to their local clinic so Nat got some sleep.”

“Fuck, I forgot about the kid!” Tony curses and Rhodey’s gaze softens. “Was he alright?”

Rhodey nods slowly. “Shaken, like Nat, but alive.”

The realisation that everyone he cared about most in the world was still breathing blankets Tony in a haze of numbness; he starts to feel shaky again.

“Thank fuck.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey nods simultaneously and reaches forwards to brush his knuckles along Steve’s forearm. “Thank fuck.”

-

A week later, the doctors decide to bring Steve out of the coma. They tell Tony that he requires more surgery, which apparently goes as well as it can when your internal organs have been terrorised by a small flying missile. After the last surgery, Tony sits by Steve for hours, waiting for him to wake up. Flowers and cards adorn his bedside table; from Pepper, Rhodey, Sam, Bucky and the others. Tony hadn’t been able to bear staying in the same room when Sam and Bucky visited Steve the first time; the state of their eyes when they’d left told him he had been right.

After what seems like forever, Steve’s eyelids flicker. The tremor is tiny, but it’s there.

“Open your eyes, handsome.” Tony breathes, his fingers laced with Steve’s. Dr Beech shoots him a sad look from where she’s injecting something into Steve’s veins.

Agonisingly, those captivating eyes become clearer until two pools of ocean blue are visible- drowsy and unfocused but alive.

“Glad to see you back with us, Mr Rogers.” Dr Beech greets with a low voice. Steve just blinks at her and then back to Tony, who just smiles at Steve’s obvious confusion. “You’ve been in a coma for just over a week and you’ve had a few major surgeries so try to remain still for me, okay? I’m gonna need to ask you some questions.”

Tony observes as Dr Beech throws some questions at Steve about if he was in pain (he wasn’t) and if he remembered what had happened (the haunted cloud over his eyes and his sharp nod broke Tony’s heart). Satisfied that he was out of the woods, Dr Beech leaves Tony and Steve together alone.

Immediately, Steve’s eyes began to fill with tears.

“Hey no, don’t.” Tony lulls and crowds impossibly closer to his husband. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Steve’s lips move slowly under the oxygen mask so Tony helps him pull it temporarily over his chin.

“T’others…” he whispers groggily, Tony nodding vigorously to calm him down.

“All fine, baby. They were here earlier. You’ve had so many people send you cards, it’s like your 30th all over again.”

The beginnings of a smirk ghost over Steve’s lips but it’s quickly replaced by a frown.

“You?...”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch.” He replies wearily but Steve’s shaking his head, his breaths shallow and unfocused.

“You- you… look awful.”

Surprised, Tony can only blink quickly and chuckle. Was he joking?

“You nearly died.” He croaks and more tears threaten to mirror Steve and spill over his lower lashes. “What did you expect me to look like?” Heartache squeezes at his chest so he takes a deep breath to compose himself. Steve notices and lets out a pained whine.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Nope, not your fault.”

“If I’d just gone to LA-”

“I said, don’t.” Tony hisses and Steve’s eyes widen. He feels exhausted from crying, exhausted from not sleeping, exhausted from worrying about a life without Steve. It wasn’t his fault.

“But the Presidency-” Steve tries again but was swiftly cut off by the older man: heartbroken and lost.

“Doesn’t matter.” Tony finishes for him but Steve clearly had a point to make.

“Of course it does. You have a country to run, sweetheart-”

“I don’t fucking care.” Tony grits through his teeth and clenches his husband’s hand harder. “I don’t give a fucking shit about the bastard Presidency. The stupid job just caused you to be shot.”

Steve’s eyelids flutter closed in pain at Tony’s words.

“Tony-”

“No!” Tony almost shouts, his body language bordering on hysterical. He shifts closer to Steve’s knees and lifts their conjoined hands to press his lips against the fragile skin on Steve’s inner wrist. “Listen to me, for once. Nothing- not one goddamn thing- is more important than you.”

Relief flashes through Steve’s eyes. He gulps and lifts his chin defiantly. 

“You are not giving up your dream because one singular asshole put some metal in my chest.”

Tony growls in irritation and tightens his grip on Steve’s hand. His husband watches him with dark eyes.

“You don’t get it; I almost lost you.”

“But you didn’t.” A singular tear rolls down Steve’s cheekbone. He lets it drop off the edge of his jaw and it pools at his neck. “You didn’t, you still have me.”

Never in Tony’s life had he felt so conflicted. Never, in one moment of terrifying confusion dating back to his childhood, had his head been so heavy with tension. Just like his statement had said after the attack: he was taking time to heal his family. The country didn’t understand, after all, what was an army without a leader? How could they grow without anyone at the helm? Frankly, Tony didn’t give two shits. The attack had made him realise that he was already spiralling and he desperately needed to be saved. 

The Presidency was his job, but Steve was his life.

“Okay,” he admits and leans forward to press a feathered kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve’s hands slide up into his hair as he cradles his head for a moment, dwelling in the fact that they were here; they were together. “Whatever you want. You’re the boss.”

Steve scoffs but swipes a thumb under Tony’s eyes to collect the waterfalls still sadly flowing. “Go back to your job.”

“As you wish.” Tony whispers and knocks their foreheads together in a breathy exhale. Steve nods happily, his face spreading into the widest smile Tony had seen in weeks. “Love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” His husband laughs and beckons Tony closer to curl up against his ribcage, extremely mindful of the surgical bandages. Tony wriggles sleepily into his collarbone and takes in the familiar presence of his true love. “Mr President.”

**Author's Note:**

> How this second instalment ended up like this, I do NOT know.
> 
> Disclaimers: Yo' girl is British and knows absolutely nothing about US politics, so we'll pretend it all occurs exactly like it is written... also I do not claim to be a medical professional and parts of the medical description came from my doctor-in-training girlfriend after I quizzed her about surgery (she was suspicious)… :) ) so if anything's wrong, yell at her. She might have told me the wrong things to spite me but I can't be sure.
> 
> Hope you lovelies found some enjoyment in this lol- let me know what you think!
> 
> WritingYay xx


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